It's Traditional
by thejedisentinel
Summary: Carth and Canderous make more bets, and Bastila is amusing.


The young Padawan tiptoed as silently as he could through the meditation room, picking his way gingerly past knots of seated Jedi in various stages of advanced contemplation. His new tunic scratched uncomfortably. Tugging self-consciously at his tabbards to straighten them, the Padawan narrowly avoided an accident with a large cushion that was orbiting around an old Mon Calamari Master.

Eventually he found the person he was looking for. He was with a bald, old Jedi, as well as a female from a species the Padawan was unfamiliar with. Clearing his throat, the Padawan spoke.

"...Master?"

Jolee grunted, opened an eye and stared at the intruder. "Ain't no Master, boy. Wrong call." Having spoken, the old man turned away and resumed meditating. The Padawan scratched the back of his neck uncertainly for a moment before speaking again.

"My apologies, Master. I meant to address your_ friend_, Master... " the boy gestured mildly at the young man seated beside Jolee, "...Revan."

"_Master_?" spluttered Revan in surprise. "But I've only just been... well, _reinstated_ into the Order!"

"Hmpf," grunted Jolee, opening both eyes. "Boy's a _Padawan_! Padawans call _every_ darn Jedi around who ain't a Padawan, 'Master'."

"Why's that?" queried Revan.

"It's tradition," replied Jolee. "Allegedly it teaches the virtue of _humility_. That's why some Jedi continue calling each other 'Master' even _after_ they've been Knighted."

Revan couldn't help but laugh. "A mutual admiration society!"

"Will you two _shut up_?" hissed Juhani irritably. "This is **meditation **room! For the _contemplation_!" She glared at the Padawan. "What it is? Speak."

Anxious to finish his job, the Padawan blurted out the message he had been sent to convey at top speed.

"Master Revan, there is a Republic Lieutenant waiting outside the Temple for you, and there's a _Mandalorian _with him. The Lieutenant says you'll know who he is, and has asked you to meet him outside." Duty performed, the Padawan bowed and hastily left the meditation chamber.

Juhani's ears twitched. "Carth. And Canderous also. It is important, you think?" Her eyes widened. "_Another attack_?"

"Nah," said Jolee dismissively. "If it were, every single Jedi in this room would be out of here faster than you could say 'Sith'." The old man prodded Revan with a foot. "They probably want to buy you a drink for having saved the gala- _oof_!"

A large cushion appeared seemingly from nowhere and careened at high speed into Jolee's face, before abruptly changing direction and knocking Juhani over. Revan ducked in time to avoid being buffeted by the rogue cushion himself. Scrambling to his feet, he exited the meditation room to forestall any successful attempt on his dignity.

The old Mon Calamari Master burbled contentedly in his throat, re-crossed his legs, and resumed his contemplations.

* * *

"Carth, what **is** this place!"

The Republic officer grinned, shrugged off his flight jacket and tossed it to the pink-skinned Twi'lek girl at the counter. Catching the article of clothing expertly, the girl flashed a brilliant smile at Carth and his two companions. "Suite two eighty-four. Down the red corridor, fifth room on your right. I've set up your tab. Enjoy!"

Placing a hand firmly on either of Revan's shoulders, Carth and Canderous steered their friend down a dusky red corridor lined with sculptures of human and humanoid figures in various states of undress, of the sort very often diplomatically referred to as 'artistic'. Soon, Revan found himself standing in front of a snazzy-looking door, whose switch Canderous activated with a flourish.

"Revan, old buddy," announced Carth. "Welcome to Coruscant!" The Republic officer pushed the Jedi into the room. Revan let out a sharp bark of surprise.

"Carth! _What the_ - there's a - by the **Force**...! A _dancing-pole_? This **isn't** what I think it is, right?" A slender pole sprouted from the centre of a little stage located in the middle of the room. The sides of the pole gleamed softly in the light, which slowly cycled through a spectrum of colours. As the lights played across the stage, soft, sultry dancing music started playing.

The Republic officer guffawed and thumped Revan enthusiastically on the back. "Depends what you're thinking, buddy! This is a gentleman's club. _Best_ in Coruscant, or so say the top brass..." Grabbing Revan's arm, Carth pulled him towards a plush sofa facing the stage. "Sit down, I'll pour you a drink!"

"Bastila's going to **kill** me," Revan groaned. He rubbed his face in his hands and peeked out through his fingers. There were four Bith musicians in the corner nearest the stage, and they had just struck up a tune.

Canderous let out a long, slow whistle. "Mandalore's _balls_, Onasi!" Pushing Carth out of the way, the Mandalorian commenced a thorough examination of the bar's contents.

"...Corellian Ale... juma juice, Bespin port - _three_ kinds of port? - brandy... _Alderaanian_ brandy! ...rose juice... Sullustan gin... more gin... beer, _gotta_ have beer - Arkanian sweet milk?" Canderous' head bobbed up from behind the bar, his expression ecstatic. "I **love **this place! Holy _mother_ of Mandalore - " he held up a bottle of something " - Gizer ale...!" Grabbing as many bottles of drink as he could carry, the Mandalorian gleefully clambered onto the sofa facing the stage.

"One for you, one for Carth... three for me!" Dropping an unopened bottle of drink into each of his friends' laps, Canderous settled happily on the opposite end of the sofa from Carth and started opening bottles. The Republic officer grinned, reached for Revan's bottle, opened it and thrust it at the dismayed Jedi.

"Bottoms up, buddy!" Upending his bottle, Carth chugged down its contents with practised ease. Revan sniffed at his drink. The fumes tickled his nasal linings. He took a sip and swallowed cautiously.

"**Ugh**...!" Revan choked, and started coughing. Carth and Canderous laughed uproariously as Revan glared at each man in turn. "What was _that_! It's borderline toxic!"

Canderous wiped away a froth moustache and sniffed the bottle held by Revan. "Smells like Antakarian Fire Dancer... _good_ stuff." The Mandalorian drained off the rest of his ale, burped in satisfaction, and reached for a second bottle.

"'_Good stuf_f'?" protested Revan loudly. "Only if you fancy drinking _paint-stripper_...!"

"Drink up, Revan," intoned Carth in his best Commanding Officer voice. "This is your bachelor party. It's traditional."

"**Bachelor party**! _Traditional_!" exclaimed Revan. "Only if you're _Corellian_! The last I checked, **you** were Telosian, Canderous is Mandalorian, and I'm -" Revan trailed off uncertainly "- apparently from Deralia."

"Which, _technically_, is only where you _think_ you're from," Canderous pointed out.

"You could be from anywhere in the Galaxy," continued Carth, raising his bottle meaningfully.

"Anywhere there's Humans," elaborated the Mandalorian. "Which, basically, is..."

"..._anywhere_," filled in the Republic officer. He prodded Revan with an elbow. "Including Corellia."

"We've decided you're Corellian," Canderous informed him cheerfully. "Bottoms up!"

Revan sank back into the sofa in disbelief. It just **had** to be Corellia, didn't it? Conspiracy!

He sighed. "Could I at least use a straw?"

* * *

Helena Shan tilted her head and pulled at an earlobe. "Has he given it to you yet?"

Bastila frowned. 'It'? What? What was Mother talking about? She blinked at the sick woman in confusion.

Helena raised her eyes to the ceiling and muttered. "Silly girl - didn't your teachers in the Order tell you _anything_ about life?"

About life? Bastila furrowed her brows and considered carefully. Oh. _Oh_.

"Mother - _really_! I - my teachers taught me _lots_ of things, Mother...! I _know_ the facts of life! About, well - babies, and... where they come from, and... you know. _Stuff_." Bastila gestured vaguely in the air about her. Poor Mother - the medicine she was on must _really_ be strong if she was talking about... stuff... and in _her _condition, too! Bastila poured herself another mug of hot water.

Helena stared at her daughter in amazement. The silly girl - she had misunderstood entirely! 'Stuff'? Is _that_ what she prefers to call it, 'stuff'? Fighting the urge to laugh, Helena turned her face away and coughed into her pillow. Behind her, Bastila jumped up and started patting her on the back.

"Should I call a medic, Mother?" asked Bastila.

"Just a stray hair," lied Helena, coughing more into her pillow for effect. "Some water would do."

As Bastila hastened to oblige, Helena composed herself, putting on her most serious look.

"So - **did **he?"

Bastila nearly dropped the carafe of water she was pouring out from. "_Mother_!" She turned around. "What a question...!"

Helena shrugged nonchalantly. "He _will_, sooner or later - it's only a matter of time. You two will be getting _married_, after all."

The mortified look that etched itself into her daughter's face would amuse Helena until her dying day. Bastila opened her mouth to speak, then thought better of it - then, as if a suitable retort had presented itself to her mind, she opened her mouth again... and then shut it a once more.

"Well?" Helena raised an eyebrow. "_Has_ he?"

"Mother!" whined Bastila.

The sick woman affected surprise. "It's only _natural_, you know. Most women would think of it as a..." Helena shrugged again, and gestured with her hands, "...planet-shaking, galaxy-ending event... though, of course, that _would_ depend on the **size** of the specimen in question..."

Size! _What_? Thoroughly scandalised, Bastila stared aghast at her mother. "Mother, we share living quarters with_ two others_ - one of them's a **Cathar**, for goodness' sake - do you honestly think - "

"I don't see the problem," quipped Helena. "You can hardly expect me to believe that your housemates follow you two around like lost puppies all day! Private moments, just the two of you... alone together... it doesn't _have_ to take **hours**, you know."

Bastila reddened. "Just because we share a room -"

"- there, you said it, you share a room! ...so there's _opportunity_..."

"Revan is a _decent_ man -"

"All the better - you **only** want it from a decent man -"

Bastila goggled. "_Mother_! You got on his case the last time we were here about how he should 'be decent' to me - and now you're saying... I _can't believe_ I'm **hearing **this!" She clapped her hands to either side of her face in disbelief.

Helena regarded her daughter amusedly. "What are you gibbering about, you silly girl?"

The meds, thought Bastila. It's the meds. It _has _to be the meds - "_Stuff_, of course - you brought it all up!"

"What 'stuff'?" queried Helena mercilessly.

"Do I _have_ to spell it out, Mother? You were asking about - about _really private_ things... **stuff**! Between Revan. And I." Bastila went from red to puce.

The eyebrow moved upwards again. "You thought I was asking if you and Revan have had sex?"

"Well, you _were_! ...weren't you!"

Smirking, Helena shifted some of the pillows behind her. "I'd _very much_ like to know **why** you thought so."

"Mother...!" squeaked Bastila weakly. It had dawned on her that she had been talking at cross-purposes all along.

"I was asking about a **ring**. An_ engagement ring_. What made you think about _sex_, I'll never fathom - what they taught you in that Order of yours, I **can't **imagine..."

* * *

"You're back late," observed Bastila as she opened the door. "Everyone's in bed. Did you have to see the Council again?"

"No," said Revan as he bent to unlace his boots. Co-ordinating his fingers had become monumentally difficult. Bastila sniffed the air and made a face.

"Ugh - is that _alcohol_?" Grabbing Revan's shoulder, she pulled him closer and sniffed at his jaw. "_Revan_! You've been drinking!"

Revan kicked off his footwear and headed for their room, his walk admirably straight for one who had been nursing an Antakarian Fire Dancer all evening. "Carth and Canderous."

"_Carth and Canderous_! What was the occasion? How come **I** didn't get invited? Where did you go?"

Bastila trailed Revan back to their room, continuing to talk at him along the way. "Did you have a lot to drink? You have to be _careful_ about that, remember what happened on_ Dantooine_ at that wedding - with me and the wine? Ugh, _never_ again. Anyway, how long were you all drinking? I hope you didn't engage in a drinking contest with Carth - or** Canderous** - one's a fish and the other's positively_ alcoholic_... I was at the hospital most of the day. Mother was... difficult, as per normal. She asked a lot of... _strange_ questions. Why are you lying on the bed in your dirty clothes!"

Through the haze of alcohol, Revan registered that Bastila was tugging at his sleeve, urging him to get up off the bed and have a shower, didn't he realise how _dusty_ Coruscant was, and this was the bed she was going to sleep in, and his tunic looked _filthy_ and smelt of alcohol, hadn't he better go _wash up_? Too much information. His mind rebelled, and decided that it had had enough nonsense for one day, and was shutting down for the night.

He fell asleep.

"...and there are even _noodles_ on your tu-" Soft snoring. Bastila peered closely at Revan and pinched him. No response. She pinched him again, harder. The soft snores continued.

"_Great_," muttered Bastila. "A dirty, dusty man who reeks of alcohol is sleeping _diagonally_ _on my bed_."

She briefly attempted moving Revan to a more reasonable position, but abandoned the effort when a packet of half-eaten fried snacks hidden in the folds of Revan's tunic emptied its crumbled contents across the bedsheet.

* * *

"What are you doing in the **tub**?" exclaimed Revan.

Bastila glared up poisonously at him. "I was _sleeping_ in the tub."

"Whatever _for_?"

"Because last night, an unwashed _barbarian_ with noodles on his clothes and alcohol on his breath fell asleep in an _impossible_ position on the bed, and refused to be moved."

"I woke up last night and wondered where you were!"

"_Here_. In the **tub**."

Revan gawped at Bastila. "You actually _slept_ in that!" He started laughing, much to Bastila's annoyance.

"The more pertinent issue is: _you_ actually slept in **that**," retorted Bastila, indicating the crumpled clothes Revan was wearing. "With two noodles and a half-empty packet of snacks for company."

Still laughing, Revan picked off the stray noodles and extricated a sorry-looking packet from his tunic. He binned the lot. "I'm sorry, Princess. I'll clean up." Sitting on the edge of the tub, Revan bent over to kiss Bastila: she swatted at him.

"You haven't told me where you went," she complained. "What was the occasion?"

"Our friends decided that I was Corellian, and decided to 'follow tradition'."

"Corellian tra - oh! They gave you a party? That's nice..." Bastila sat up and started gathering the bedding she had piled into the tub. "...they didn't bring you anywhere _dodgy_, did they?" She narrowed her eyes and peered dubiously at Revan, who did his best to look innocent.

"Carth said it was a perfectly _respectable_ club, I mean, joint," offered Revan. He caught the pillow before it could hit his face.

"A **club**! Oh, I know where those two _reprobates_ brought you - it was one of those _sleazy_ 'gentleman's clubs' with dancing girls and, and... they're _hardly wearing anything_, or... or they _take things off_ - and sit on your lap and - " Bastila raised her voice " - that is just **disgusting**, I can't _believe_ the nerve of those two - no, actually I **can**! - Carth Onasi and Canderous Ordo, you are _so_. In. _Trouble_."

"Oh, good - you're not angry at _me_." Smiling, Revan leant in and attempted to kiss Bastila again.

Bastila raised the pillow she was holding on to, and waved it threateningly. "_Did you watch the show_? I **will** know if you are lying," she warned.

"**Watch** the show!" echoed Revan. "You must be _joking_! The only thing I watched all evening was my _drink_, because I didn't trust either of those two **not** to put any more alcohol into it when I wasn't looking!"

"Really?"

"_Really_."

"Then why did you literally pass out?"

"_You_ try drinking an Antarkarian Fire Dancer, and tell me if you manage _not_ to," said Revan. "Can I kiss you now?"

Bastila made a face, but did not push him away this time. "You're _still_ filthy," she complained, as Revan's lips hovered over hers.

In reply, Revan chucked the pillows and other bedding out of the tub entirely. "Won't be for long," he said as he kissed Bastila.

It was, thought Bastila, a _thoroughly _enjoyable kiss - once she got over the alcohol on Revan's breath. So wrapped up in the moment was she that she failed to notice his arm sneaking behind her, and onto the water controls, until it was too late.

"Revan! The water! Turn it off! _Turn it off_!" squealed Bastila. Revan roared with laughter.

"You're _crazy_!" cried Bastila, as she clambered out of the tub, drenched.

"Smart girl," said Revan, still laughing.

"My hair is **wet**!"

"So it is."

"And my _clothes_ are soaked!"

"You could take them off," suggested Revan, a cheeky grin on his face.

Bastila stabbed Revan in the shoulder with an accusing finger. "You did this _on purpose_!"

"Guilty as charged, Princess," said Revan, as he took off his tunic. "So do you want to _join me_, or do you prefer to _watch_?"

* * *

Outside the 'fresher, Jolee listened as the voices - Bastila's raised, and Revan's a low murmur - faded and were gradually replaced by the sound of a shower going. Laughing to himself, the old Jedi tiptoed away and went to place a call.

Carth's comlink buzzed, and Canderous answered it. "Yeah?" The Mandalorian listened intently for a few seconds and grinned.

"Kark _yeah_ - thank you, old man. 'Bout friggin' time. Yeah. _Yeah_, fifty-fifty. Meet you later."

Tossing the comlink aside, the Mandalorian strode over to the couch where Carth lay with a hot towel on his face. He kicked the reclining man gently on the shin.

"Eh, pay up, flyboy."

Carth lifted a corner of the towel. "Seriously! For real?"

"Jolee just called. Oi, he's perfectly neutral, remember? Bugger takes half of the winnings - whoever wins. S'pay up."

"Frackin' _hilarious_, those two," said Carth, replacing the towel. He motioned to a jacket thrown carelessly across a chair. "Front left chest pocket."

The Mandalorian retrieved the credits, pocketed a hundred, and returned the remainder.

"What shall we bet on next?"


End file.
